


The Scale Waiting for the Weight

by delgaserasca



Series: Trek Bingo 2020 [3]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26211805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delgaserasca/pseuds/delgaserasca
Summary: “I do not intend to be regretful,” says T’Pring. “I find I do not care for it.”Five times T'Pring and Michael crossed paths, and one time they crossed palms.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/T'Pring
Series: Trek Bingo 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903600
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30
Collections: Star Trek Bingo Summer 2020





	The Scale Waiting for the Weight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Trek Bingo 2020; prompt _first date/kiss/time_ , which is what I picked for my free space. Thanks to **[Door](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Door)** for the beta!

Despite herself, T’Pring is lost.

The house is big - much bigger than her own - and she had followed the house servant with little regard for direction, choosing instead to look upon the decorative features, cataloguing the grandeur of the S’chn T’gai home. The style is grandiose yet functional. Try as she might, T’Pring is unable to discern which elements, if any, are the result of Lady Amanda’s influence.

She finds herself, unexpectedly, outdoors. Judging by Las’hark, the height of the building, and the length of time she judges has passed since the Healer first pressed her mind to her sa-kugalsu’s, she has found herself at the back of the property. Armed with this context, T’Pring is calculating the most logical route back to the hospitality quarter when she realizes she is not alone.

The space at the back of the house is overrun as though someone has abandoned a wild crop. The soil smells damp, an unexpected deluge, wasteful in its intensity. Branches bloom amok with unexpected and unwarranted color, and there, yes, hidden but unmistakable, another person.

T’Pring intends to retreat unnoticed but some shift in the breeze alerts the stranger to her presence. It is a girl, older than T’Pring, with bright eyes and a clear gaze. She stands abruptly, as though caught, and for a moment, neither of them moves. T’Pring wonders which of them is the intruder, then notes the roundness of the girl’s ears, curved like Lady Amanda’s where T’Pring had expected to see elongation.

Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, the girl reaches forward as though to speak—

“T’Pring,” she hears her father call from within the house. She turns on her heel and departs.

*

It does not take much investigation to learn that the human in residence at the S’chn T’gai home - for human she must be, her pupils dark brown, her ears blunted - is another of Sarek’s human... acquisitions. The daughter of scientists killed by Klingons at Doctari Alpha, the human - Michael Burnham - had been taken in as a ward by Sarek and Lady Amanda. She is, in essence, T’Pring’s sister-in-law.

Curious.

When T’Pring learns Michael’s identity she realizes she ought to have made the connection sooner. Although ShiKahr is a metropolis, there are not many humans in residence. T’Pring attributes the lapse in her deductive prowess to the impact of the newly-formed bond. There had been many new details worthy of attention that day.

Michael Burnham, it transpires, has excelled at the Learning Center. By all accounts, she is an unexpected match for her Vulcan peers, despite the noted disadvantage of her humanity. T’Pring does not seek news, yet nonetheless it reaches her: Michael Burnham is within the top 5 percentile of her class; Michael Burnham intends to attend the Vulcan Science Academy; Michael Burnham has set her sights on joining the Vulcan Expeditionary Group.

She sees her a number of times, regal in composure, but fretful, as though sheared at the edges, hands clasped to the PADDs she carries like a shield. Michael is careful with her words, moreso with that piercing gaze that T’Pring remembers as clear as a touch.

In the meantime, T’Pring is failing to meet the standard competency in computer science. She proposes an exchange with Spock: his assistance in exchange for hers with his mental discipline, which is not lacking so much as loose. They begin to meet at an Andorian-owned cafe on the boundary of the lower town where the population dwindles to allow a greater diversity of races. They are less likely to be witnessed by their peers, or those of her brothers and father.

They are discovered despite T’Pring’s precautions.

“What are you doing?”

“Studying,” Spock replies. Michael, however, only has eyes for T’Pring.

“Should you be here unaccompanied?” she asks.

“My father is aware of my whereabouts,” T’Pring replies. 

Michael is more astute than T’Pring has given her credit, for she only says, “That doesn’t answer the question.”

In the end, Michael takes a seat on the far side of the room, observing as Spock and T’Pring cover the day’s classwork in more detail. Though she does not interrupt, she stands when Spock gets to his feet, and follows as he leaves. She does not speak to T’Pring, but pauses in the door, watchful and considering. As always, her gaze has the potency of a propelled javelin, and T’Pring believes Michael has seen through the veneer of self-assurance T’Pring has made it her practice to cultivate. For a moment, she feels very young.

Michael holds open the door, and allows her to leave first. Two days later, T’Pring receives a missive on her personal console from an unknown address. It is an annotated copy of the learning center’s module on computer science. The annotations are in Standard.

*

T’Pring’s brother undergoes his Time during her final year at the Learning Center. In the coming month she will matriculate at the VSA where, upon graduating, she intends to apply for a research position. Her path is clear; Spock’s less so. He continues to be subject to their peers’ negative attention, and while he has never gone so far as to enter into violence again, T’Pring is aware of the personal battles he endures to maintain a calm facade. They meditate together on occasion, T’Pring impressed by Spock’s perseverance if not his improvement, which is slow but absolute. She has some small sympathy for Spock’s position; it is not one of his making, yet he must endure the repercussions regardless. She has pride in him, as well, in the keenness of his mind, and the stability of his intent. He has the same for her, she knows; in her academic proficiency and mental discipline. They have, over time, become acquaintances. She wonders whether the same can be said of the other bonded pairs they know - whether their relationships are more or less intimate than T’Pring’s with Spock. She does not believe theirs to be lacking. 

She is at home alone for the time being, her family undertaking the journey to the sacred sands to witness her brother’s koon’ut’kal’i’fee. When her brother returns, he will be bonded, and he will bring his bondmate with him to live in their home until such a time as their new dwelling is complete.

Many of T’Pring’s peers’ siblings have also begun to undergo their Times of late; mating has therefore become a topic of much, if not furtive, discussion. Spock’s sister is of age but, being human, will not undergo the ritual. As ward, she did not undergo Telan t’Kanlar, nor did she need to do so. T’Pring wonders whether humans ever feel alone in their own minds, with no bonds to tether them to one another. She wonders, too, what it must be, to know you have no obligation to anyone other than yourself and your own scholarly pursuits.

The thought has followed her for some time, and is with her still when, while on a cursory, if not particularly revelatory, tour of the VSA, she encounters Michael Burnham once again. Sepek is an administrator, tasked with introducing T’Pring and her classmates to the location. While written literature is available and sufficient, the docent nonetheless saw value in practical experience, and so had opened the doors of the VSA to their perusal. The group is led quietly from department to department, shown lecture theatres and laboratories, and are allowed to witness groups working collaboratively on a varied number of subjects.

There is one solitary student working in the library, and T’Pring recognizes her before she turns - Michael Burnham. She is notably taller now, her visage lacking Vulcan severity, but nevertheless immaculate. Her features have a pleasing symmetry, though T’Pring would be hard pressed to admit this out loud. Despite her Vulcan air, there is something inescapably human about Michael, an acuity to her gaze that is not to her detriment. 

It soon becomes apparent that Sepek has a noted, if not illogical, dislike for Michael. 

“Why are you here?” he asks, as though one’s purpose in a library cannot be immediately deduced.

“I am completing my research,” Michael answers.

“What is your specialism?” asks Sepek.

“Xenobiology.”

“And what is your current area of study?”

“The mating habits of the Garagulan beetle.”

Sepek is not so gauche as to frown, but his derision is apparent. “You consider this a worthy area of study?”

Barely registering the intent to do so, T’Pring speaks in Michael’s defence. “A deviation in the behaviors of insectoids often predicates significant climatic changes,” she says, “which in turn can have severe implications for agrarian practices.”

Michael’s attention is the lance it always is. “You are correct,” she says. “An astute observation.”

Sepek, disgruntled, but unwilling to say as much, leads them from the room. T’Pring glances back as she exits. Michael is watching, careful and considering. 

*

News of Michael’s rejection by the Vulcan Expeditionary Group spreads quickly. T’Pring’s brother predicts some deficiency in Michael’s records. It is an illogical conclusion as it is well known that Michael had surpassed her peers in all academic respects. The implication is clear: in baselessly rejecting Michael’s application, the Expeditionary Directory has proven himself an opponent of IDIC. It is clear to all that Michael, whose astounding aptitude had placed her ahead of her classmates, had been rejected solely on the base of her race.

Nevertheless, her achievements are well-documented, even among Vulcans, and T’Pring thinks nothing of approaching the young woman whose eyes are now downcast. They are endearing, T’Pring thinks, these marks of vulnerability. 

“I congratulate you on your graduation, Michael Burnham.”

If she is surprised to see T’Pring, Michael does not give voice to it, choosing instead to bow in acknowledgement. T’Pring wishes to say more, but Lady Amanda appears to pull Michael away.

Two days later, T’Pring learns that Michael has been accepted into Starfleet and is soon to depart ShiKahr for service upon a vessel that is currently within the Alpha Quadrant. The night before her scheduled departure, T’Pring encounters Michael outside the VSA. Despite herself, T’Pring approaches Michael once more.

“You are departing Vulcan.”

“Yes,” says Michael. “Tomorrow.”

“No doubt you will excel in whichever role you are assigned,” says T’Pring.

“That is doubtful,” says Michael.

T’Pring frowns. “I am not given to exaggeration. I would not speak falsely.”

Michael only nods in response, turning to leave. As she passes, T’Pring leans in to speak to her in confidence.

“It is unfair that your application was rejected but the Expeditionary Group will find the decision is to their detriment, not yours.”

On hearing her words, Michael straightens, pinning T’Pring under her crystalline gaze. As is ever the case, T’Pring finds Michael’s attention to be penetrating. She feels, as she always does, that her intentions are exposed under the weight of Michael’s regard.

“Thank you,” Michael says after a few moments, voice low and in earnest.

T’Pring tamps down on her autonomic functions, refusing to allow the flush to rise to her cheeks.

“Thanks are unnecessary,” she says at last. “I merely give voice to fact.”

“Thank you, then,” Michael says, “for saying so.”

*

T’Pring comes to visit Spock once a week. Her parents are unaware of her practice, although she is well-received by Sarek. She and Spock study together, as they have done for many years; as their classmates grew older and more sufficiently advanced in the practice of logic, they had left off their childhood taunting, choosing instead to find Spock unworthy of notice or attention. The result is that T’Pring is able to maintain their acquaintance without receiving undue attention.

She has known of Michael’s impending shore leave for 12 days, and she has timed her visit to ensure that she will have the opportunity to speak with Spock’s sister. An hour into their shared studying, T’Pring excuses herself to make use of the facilities. Returning circuitously from the fresher, she spots Michael outside.

It has been many years since their first meeting; the garden is in bloom once more. T’Pring now understands that its function is primarily aesthetic, even with the drain on water resources. Spock had explained his mother’s cultivation of flora and fauna to be practical in human terms: she grows food to nourish the body, flowers to nourish the soul. Illogical, but acceptable in a human, T’Pring thinks; endearing, even. 

Michael’s hair has grown out a little, but she has maintained her impeccable stature. T’Pring has thought of her often - sought news from Spock and, on one notable occasion, Sarek. In recent skirmishes with the Romulans, the Shen Zhou has emerged victorious. While T’Pring is against Starfleet’s military purpose, she has wondered how Michael has fared among her own people - whether she has found acceptance there, or whether she still considers Vulcan to be her home.

In a rare moment of apprehension, T’Pring considers departing without interrupting. She is about to turn to leave when Michael looks up and sees her. “Sarek told me you’ve been visiting,” she says, before turning back to her task. She is weeding one of the beds, quiet and efficient. “Do you come to the garden often?”

“I do not,” T’Pring says, truthfully. “I do not find it logical.”

“Perhaps not,” Michael says, getting to her feet. She is in informal clothing; her knees are red with soil. “It is very beautiful, though,” she adds, taking off one of her gloves to stroke a finger across a crimson red blossom, touch delicate yet indulgent. The gesture seems obscene in some way. T’Pring resolves not to flinch.

Michael casts her knowing glance over T’Pring as she comes to stand before her. Since Michael first left for the Shen Zhou, T’Pring has grown taller, making them of a height. When Michael’s hair is still loosely in the common Vulcan fashion, T’Pring wears hers long, and braided in sections. It is her one concession to vanity, and she finds herself wondering whether Michael approves. 

“I’m sure even you can appreciate form over function,” Michael says.

T’Pring inclines her head in agreement. For a moment, neither of them speaks. In an effort to delay her departure, T’Pring asks Michael about her experience in Starfleet. If Michael is surprised, she does not say so, merely answers each question T’Pring has collected in her absence.

They pass the afternoon this way, discussing first Starfleet, then T’Pring’s studies at the VSA. Michael is knowledgeable in a number of subjects, articulate, and thoughtful. T’Pring finds she is eager to engage with her in debate, finding that Michael is sufficiently advanced in the practice of logic, and also well-versed in practicalities, her experiences in Starfleet offering new perspectives that T’Pring had not had cause to consider previously.

When T’Pring leaves for the day, Michael offers her the same red bloom to take with her, long in the stem, with a pleasing scent. Spock does not come to retrieve her, nor does T’Pring seek him out to bid him farewell.

*

*

*

T’Pring finds herself in Paris after the Klingon War. She is there with her research group to deliver a paper on temporal mechanics at a symposium. That the crew of the USS Discovery is also present is an unforeseen, though not unwelcome, surprise. 

Years have passed since T’Pring last encountered Michael. During that time, Spock chose Starfleet over the Vulcan Expeditionary Group, and embarked on a five-year mission on the USS Enterprise. Although the decision was not entirely surprising, it cemented T’Pring’s resolve. Were Spock in general service, perhaps an exception could be made, but a five-year mission indicated his own unwillingness to return to Vulcan but for fleeting visits. To bond herself to such a man would be the height of illogic. She wishes him no ill-will; she must consider her own future with the same clarity.

The time had come when even Michael was beyond reach. Branded a mutineer on the eve of war, her subsequent disappearance on board the Discovery was nonetheless unwelcome news. T’Pring had grieved; she had known regret. She does not intend to be regretful again, not when it is within her power to prevent it.

Despite this, when she crosses paths with Michael, their meeting is unintentional.

She is slender and elegant as ever, decked in the clean, navy lines of her Starfleet uniform, standing under an umbrella on the street corner, waiting for the opportunity to cross. T’Pring had not expected to see her so soon, if at all, and is compelled to speak.

“I am gratified that you have been restored to your rank,” she says.

Michael startles, a flinch in human terms, but more voluble to a Vulcan.

“T’Pring.”

“Would you walk with me, Commander?”

Michael inclines her head in agreement, and they turn away from the crossing, heading instead into an open space. T’Pring had been intrigued to learn that many Earth cities reserved well-tended open areas, specifically for the purpose of ambulation. Since her arrival on the planet five days prior, she has taken to circling the gardens, comparing the flora there to those she had seen in Lady Amanda’s flower beds back in ShiKahr. The flowers here come in many different forms and colours; Lady Amanda was limited in what she was able to cultivate, and yet her perseverance had borne fruit. In her garden, Vulcan and Terran buds blossom side-by-side.

“What brings you to Paris?” Michael asks as they follow the path. The air is pungent with the scent of damp soil and wet grass. T’Pring is startled by the abundance of water on Earth; the rain fascinates her. There are storms in the desert, but they are frenzied, whereas rainfall on Earth is powerful but almost serene. She is aware the worst storms on the planet cannot be waded into, and yet privately she is exhilarated. 

“My team has been invited to the symposium,” she says, reaching out from under her umbrella to collect water in her palm, aware she is under Michael’s particular scrutiny. 

“An honor,” Michael says, “to be sure. Tell me about your presentation.”

They discuss the finer points of T’Pring’s paper, as though no time has passed since they last spoke, sitting knee-to-knee on the S’chn T’gai grounds. Michael asks after T’Pring’s time at the VSA; T’Pring enquires carefully of Michael’s time on the Discovery. She is not as she was, T’Pring realizes; some harm has been inflicted, sight unseen, and even Michael speaks of humility. T’Pring finds, irrationally, that she would have Michael’s thoughts, were such a thing to be offered.

The rain eases, allowing them to take down their umbrellas, dusting them of excess water before they continue on their circuit. T’Pring spots rose bushes and reaches out, as Michael had once done, to run her fingers over the petals. “These are your favorites, if I recall?” she says, leaning in to inhale their sweet scent.

“Really?” Michael asks, surprised. “I always thought they were yours.” At T’Pring’s questioning look, she adds, “You were always drawn to them whenever I saw you in Amanda’s garden.”

“They were the flowers you were tending,” T’Pring noted, “and I... appreciate the vibrancy of their hues. They are bold.”

“Beautiful,” Michael says.

“Yes.”

T’Pring looks to Michael then, warm under the weight of her regard, and, unwilling to wait for that which she wishes to be hers, reaches forward to slip two fingers into Michael’s warm palm. Michael startles, plainly aware of the significance of the act, and looks around before stepping forward to conceal their grasp. She does not let go. 

“T’Pring,” she cautions, her voice low, “what are you doing?”

“I do not intend to be regretful,” says T’Pring. “I find I do not care for it.”

Michael looks at her carefully, noting her resolve, and nods, slightly. She squeezes T’Pring’s fingers gently, before reaching to carefully clasp their palms together, gently entwining their fingers. The bright hum of her mind brushes sweetly against T’Pring’s own, bold and beautiful. T’Pring finds she has to concentrate to take in her next breath.

Michael steers them back onto the path. “Why don’t you tell me,” she says carefully, “what you do care for.” T’Pring finds the suggestion most agreeable.

> _I was a much younger woman  
>  in a hallway, and I saw you:_
> 
> _I said to myself_  
>  Here he comes.  
>  My future’s husband.
> 
> **— Laura Kasischke, _Love Poem_**

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Title and epigraph from Laura Kasischke's poem, [Love Poem](https://motherground.tumblr.com/post/26546526832/love-poem).


End file.
